


Bloodloss and Agony

by Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Dad Thursday, Fandom needs more whump, He's a sergeant but no George Fancy?, Hurt, I love you still, Mild gore? Idrk, Morse Whump, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Set season 4?, Sorry Fancy, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2019-12-27 00:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw/pseuds/Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw
Summary: While solving a case and searching for clues, Morse gets more than he bargined for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Endeavour fic, inspired to write by imaginationtherapy!
> 
> While I was creating this, I had accidentally deleted a sections so I'm a bit miffed but hey, here we go.

Blood. He never could stand the sight of it. The metallic stench it brought to the air, the glistening of ruby-red liquid as it pooled on whatever surface it could touch. How it still felt warm after it had left the body before cooling and leaving behind a stain or small flecks you can't seem to remove. A reminder until cleaned away, a nuisance to remove. Whether it was washed off the feeling would still stay, for ever ingrained in your skin. How anyone could deal with looking at without having the urge to lose his or her latest meal or feeling dread and light-headed was beyond him. Seeing it on a daily basis brought not tolerance, only more hatred. And queasiness.

He thought blood should never leave the body. It belonged inside. Flowing through veins and arteries to take away waste and supply oxygen to the organism it inhabited. It kept them alive, therefore it shouldn't be lost. Too much gone meant death, but now he had no say in the substance's actions. Hands pressing down as best they could, fruitless in their efforts. Trying to hold it all in. He tried. He really did. Instead, it just squeeze through his fingers and took a detour over his hands towards the floor. Pooling. It stained the pores of his skin and clung to the fabrics of his suit. 

The atmosphere grew thick with the scent and his stomach turned. Barely managing to roll to the side as half-digested lunch came back up and spilled on to the floor, only making the air worse and triggered more waves of nausea. He shuffled, crying out softly as the wounds stretched and tugged, a new load of pain flooding him. He could feel it bubbling and spilling, dread filling him. He whimpered and struggled to cease the flow. Slick and slippery, the extremities battling to stay where they should. Just like the blood wouldn't...

~~~

The office was filled with the low hum of terrible electric fans, tapping of type writer keys and quiet chatter between officers and detective. Everyone was on edge. The latest criminal seeming to have some sort of advantage over the police force, evading arrest for weeks and committing three atrocities already. Mr Bright and Inspector Thursday discussing in the doorway to the latter's office, keeping their voices loud but at a clear sigh of a private conversation. However, Morse was hardly paying attention to anyone else, thought and theories fully focused on the board ahead of him.

He could guess that Thursday would bring the Chief Superintendent up to speed, giving him all the facts and figures in their with case. He had no need to listen as Morse had just discussed the same thing with the Inspector beforehand. Anyway, he knew Strange would be snooping and could update Morse if absolutely necessary. He had more important things than to eavesdrop on something he already knew.

Morse stood with his back to the men, eyes trained on the photos in front. Disgust set clearly in his stands and facial expression. Three single photos, separate times, separate days and no visible link. Only that the victims were young children. Bodies battered and bruised. Malformed and broken. Nothing like a child should be, no more growing, no more learning. It make Morse sick that anyone could look at them and think such vile thoughts. To take them away from the grieving families for no obvious reason, possibly just to make the people suffer. Or revenge because those innocent lives just happened to remind the villains of something that had hurt them personally. Morse couldn't wrap his head around it.

Notes were written around the images, little to no help with wild speculations that led nowhere or only sparked the smallest of hope in the CID. Morse had talked to just about everyone he could: school teachers, friends, family, even the local church. It brought nothing useful to the investigation, only sympathy for the child and hatred for the perpetrator.

The Vicar himself had preached that it was God's wish for the three to join him. What type of god would steal the lives of such young people? Stripping them away from family and friends, while others could still enjoy a Sunday picnic and watch their young prancing about in the sun. Morse couldn't stand religion's excuse for this horrid act. It wasn't God, it was a straightforward vicious attack with nothing to justify it!

Maybe he felt a little attached to the case, himself having a horrible childhood once his mother passed. Gwen had been cruel and unloving to the motherless fifteen year old at her door and Cyril, his father, hadn't been much better. However, the main difference between him and these children was the fact that they had families who cared. They hadn't lost their parents, but they had lost their lives. Morse could see he had been the lucky one. Despite this, he refused to back down from the case. Any copper could get emotional over the mutilate bodies of such young human, if he had a heart. Why should he push the burden of the case on to anyone else? No, it would do him more good if he solved it, or at least help lead the way.

Giving the dead the justice they deserved was all he could, and would ever wish for. This would bring closure however it was not for himself but for the grieving families. For the victims. For the children.

~~~

The pain was probably a less unsettling part than the bleeding. Yet he couldn't say he liked it. Certainly not. Especially how it could block your senses and cause such discomfort from even the most simple of knocks, bumps or bruises. Thinking became impossible as he focused on staying still. Focused on breathing. At least it wouldn't kill him…yet. 

Unfortunately he could feeling almost every type of pain in his body. His knees and back throbbing periodically from slamming against the concrete floor and brick walls. A numb pain that would loop between fading and suddenly reappearing to make the situation worse. The man's head pounded with a sharp pain behind his eyes, he hadn't eaten or drank in a few hours and the bloodloss made him light-headed. 

His stomach burned white-hot with each stab wound present, flaring up at the most subtle of movement, breathing would cause this the most as the torn skin was stretched. The cold had chilled down to the bone, making way for the deep aches which wouldn't go away. He couldn't escape the freezing temperatures, the floor, the air and his own body had been sucked of all heat. The shivers tried to help but caused more agony than aid as they slowly grew weaker and less prominent.

~~~

The methodical tick of the clock echoed through the room and Morse tapped his pen in rhythm. He was thinking. He had read up on old, but similar cases, desk littered with paper, files, and notes, you couldn't even see the desk itself. All the information about suspects and victims, families and friends, anything Morse could used to give the slightest of hints to who, what, and where. The sergeant felt frustrated and worn out but he couldn't give up now. Who knew when the next child might be taken so there was no time to waste. Eyelids falling shut and head beginning to tilt down, he jerked back just before he hit the desk. Morse frantically glanced around, hardly anyone around to fall witness to his embarrassing moment. A small chuckle escaped his lips as Morse looked back to the report in front of him.

The sharp shrill of a telephone cut through the air and Morse's attention was dragged from the paper with a jump. For a brief moment he felt wide awake. He glanced at the time. 10:40pm, he should be getting home. A yawn escaped him, back to the exhausted state. The continued ringing once again caught Morse's attention, his mind catching up. Morse lazily searched for the device and found it covered by half the mess on his desk. The sergeant answered the phone, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he stifled another yawn.

"Morse?"

As the voice spoke, Morse sat up alert. He grabbed a pen quick. He listened, writing as best he could before slamming the phone down. Morse grabbed his coat and raced out of the CID.

~~~

Morse was an idiot, of course he knew it. A brilliant mind when it came to problem solving, but those cogs stopped spinning once it came to self-care or caution. That's why he tended to get hurt often, forgetting to complete the basics of life. Eat, sleep and drink anything but beer. He supposed that's why he didn't think to phone for Thursday and hold back for the cavalry, or taken one of the uniform officers on their night shift. But here Morse was, going against the norm once again. Putting himself in an unknown situation for the sake of saving a victim. Any reasonable copper would had called in for backup, waiting to see the swirling azure-blue lights accompanied by the ear-piercing sirens. More men meant they could have covered more ground and set guards to stop any escapees. But he was Endeavour Morse, waiting was never one of his strong suits, so he had gone inside.

The call, as he remembered, was anonymous and gave him brief but understandable orders. The witness had seen the murderer with another child, kicking and screaming. Head to the warehouse with windows smashed, bricks broken and derelict as an old war bunker. That's where he would find the criminal and child. Morse hadn't thought anything suspicious of it at the time, all he could think about was helping the small one. He didn't need a fourth death on his conscience and another family grieving for their loss.

Torch in hand, he had pushed through rotten doors and stumbled over heaps of rubble. Not a soul in sight. The detective could hear the panicking squeals of rats as he invaded their homes and trespassed through their land. ‘’It was too quiet” he had thought but continued to search. Dust collected in his throat and cobwebs clung to his coat as he swept the room with his torch, nothing but rats, rubble, and rubbish. The beam landed on the wall in front, revealing a large black mass, Morse moved closer to look. It suddenly apart, millions of eight-legged monsters flinging in all directions like some nightmarish film. It startled him and he let out a strangled scream and stumbled back, dropping his light source and falling to the ground. Morse let out a grunt as his head collided with a metal post. Pain reverberating through his skull.

Morse felt sluggishly around the floor for the torch, only getting up once he had his grasp around. It buzzed slightly and flickered on before promptly switching off dead. He let out a small, annoyed huff as he was plunged into darkness and forced to fumbles around for a way out. To his left came a noise, too loud to be the scuttling of vermin.

"DS Morse, Thames Valley CID, state you name!" He demanded but gained no reply. Morse held his ground despite being unable to see a thing. "I-I said-" and Morse was cut off as there was hurried steps on brick, getting louder before he was slammed into the rough walls, once again hitting his head and back. He tried to fight but was left pinned as figure leaned over him, struggling to focus with his head spinning. 

The pain soon slowed to a dull pulse but it didn't last for long as the character grabbed Morse by his hair, throwing his head back with such force and whispering into his ear. He hardly registered through the fogginess of his mind the sharp object being plunged into his stomach. Morse let out a wail and throat wrenching scream as it pulled out and shoved in on another spot, over and over again. The detective couldn't watch as the person ran, already passed out before he hit the floor.

~~~

He had slowly regained consciousness and now Morse sat against the wall, quietly sobbing to himself as the pain gradually increased and he struggled to stay awake. Everywhere hurt, from head to toe, and he felt like the world was creeping away from him. Darkness sucking him in even as the moon began to glow through a shattered window. It brought a draft with it too, causing a shiver to run through his body and pain with each reflex. He knew his body was trying to keep him warm, keep his body working but Morse wish it would stop. It hurt too much…No, stopping would get him killed. It was the panic of course bringing these thoughts, which made it all worse, Morse didn't want to die in a place like this. A dirty, derelict old factory, filled with spiders, rats and god knows what else.

He knew he had to move. He couldn't just die there, there was a crime to solve. Thursday or Strange needed to be notified at least. The children couldn't go without justice or god forbid another one was taken. But the exhaustion was slowly overtaking him and movements felt sluggish and weak. It was a struggle he knew he might not win, but that didn't mean Morse wouldn't try. Lifting an arm and pulling himself up, the agony erupted once again. The whimpers and cries that it tugged out of his throat brought along tears and a new gush of blood.

"G-Get up you fool…" he slurred, berating his inability to stand up. Trying again, more pitiful noises left his throat but he managed to stand on shaky legs. The wall beside him was leant on as feet barely moved forward. "C'mon you _bastard!_ " After what seemed like hours, the man finally succeeded in reaching the door. It was pushed open, letting the bright moonlight flood into the room. His eyes burned at the suddenly reappearance of light but he greeted it with a struggling smile. Now he just needed to get to the car.

One step out of the door has resulted in the detective falling straight to the floor. Blood leaking out of the gashes still, making his legs weak and mind slow. The dull patter of blood dripping to the floor sounded. It had taken most of his effort to haul himself back on to his knees, leaning heavily again the outside wall as he caught his breathe. The ache in his head pulsed as he rose, worsened by the moonlight as it hung in the sky. Watching over the night with no question, oblivious to the cruelty and crime that happens on the Earth. Clueless to the torment going through Morse's body. 

The darkness around his mind soon returned, faster than before and threatening to take him away once again. Despite this, the man slowly shuffled towards the Jaguar. A slow process of falling, rising and moving a couple of steps again and again, before he finally was able to swing open the door and climb inside. Morse couldn't find any care for staining the seats as he switched on the engine, struggling with the shake of his hands. Without warning the shadows encased his mind complete and he was out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Kudos, and Criticism are always appreciated.  
> Tumblr - @Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw
> 
> Everything is also posted on fanfiction.net


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!

The night had begun to slowly draw in, coming in faster now that winter was making itself present. The night shift would be starting soon and the current case heading nowhere. So, Inspector Thursday decided to give in to the desire to head home, desperately wanting to see his wife after a long day's work. To settle down, have dinner - a nice, homemade sheperd's pie, topped with gravy and accompanied by a range of vegetables - and spend his evening relaxing in front of the television, before calling it a night and falling asleep with his arms around Win. 

When Fred has left his office, smoking pipe stored in his pocket and hat sat upon his head, calling into his bagman to ride him home, he couldn't say he was surprised when the young man didn't hear him. Nose buried in a bunch of files. Like always. He understood Morse's passion for solving cases and catching criminals, however, that usually let to him spending nights at the stations, unslept and unfed. The lad could fit together the most outlandish theories yet struggled to grasps the concepts of self-care. Which is why Thursday felt the responsibility to fill in that gap. Morse wasn't just his bagman, he was also his son and the boy needed a father who cared for him. He knew Win had already taken up the maternal management for him. But this time instead of arguing, Thursday rested his hand on Morse's shoulder, bid him goodnight.

"Don't keep yourself up all night, ya' hear? I need you bright and sharp, usual time tomorrow" he advised. Who knew if the lad really heard what was spoken, but he gave Thursday a nod and went back to reading. Mind always at work. Instead, the Inspector intended to drive himself home but was stopped as Jim Strange stood, pulled his coat on and put files away before offering a lift. He gladly accepted.

Once home, Fred, as he can shamefully admit, forgot all about Morse, the lone man sure to find little to no sleep tonight, almost abandoned at the station with just the night crew. But who could blame Fred when Win had taken his full attention, listening as she spoke about her day and brought him the dinner he had been looking forward to. Sitting together as the TV played in front, small comments on how 'this show is awful' or 'TV just wasn't any good anymore'. Just spending time with his wife. Thinking back to it, Fred Thursday had wished he had forced the young sergeant home with him.

~~~

Morse's mind had always plagued him with the most imaginative and unreal nightmares he could remember, always leaving him unsettled and in a state of panic. Drugs would make it worse, hence his dislike for them, making them bleed into the waking day and twist his reality. But that wasn't the point, he just preferred to have a clear mind, kept busy throughout the day with crosswords, cases and opera.

Unfortunately, in the night it ran wild, there were no such barriers to stop it, plunging Morse's dreams into intense nightmares, pulling out and replaying the worst things to happen to him. 

He felt like he was floating, numb all over.

His body felt like it was falling, tumbling through the air slowly as he did cartwheels and twirls, unable to steady himself out and at least fall with some grace. His suit jacket flapped around him and his hair was tousled. Everything was charcoal black and the fall seemed endless, no ground in sight. He was scared- no terrified. The last thing Morse could remember was climbing into the Jaguar, bleeding all over the leather and desperately trying to start the engine. Now all he was doing was plummeting.

Gradually the darkness morphed into that of red. Blood red to be exact. Looking at it, Morse felt queasy, could he pass out in a dream? Endeavour shut his eyes but it did nothing to help, still seeing the horrifying image behind his eyelids, so he flung them open just as quick. 

The vast, blood-like walls had changed again. Facing forming. Words echoing around his head. There was his mother, as beautiful as she had been before the dreadful illness took her soul away. She stood quiet. Morse called out to her, but Constance didn't respond. Then a dark hand seemed to reach out of nowhere, wrapping it's giant paws around her small, quickly weakening frame. As soon as her body was encased his mother let out a scream, one that ripped through Endeavour's chest and seemed to propel him away, right into his next nightmare.

Morse tumbled through the air, a small orbit of flesh colour in front of him, gradually began to expand like a balloon until it took the shape of the late Cyril Morse. A horrifying image, mouth agape and anger flaming in his eyes. Literal flames reaching out of his eyes sockets, grabbing at the air and fueling itself, peaking out to see it's surroundings.

Morse tried to angle away from it, fear peaking. He scrambled at the air but his effort was fruitless as the bodyless giant grew closer and closer. There was no stopping the fall, Morse would just have to bear through it but that didn't stop Morse's rational thoughts were overwhelmed by terror. He was plummeting into the gaping mouth of his deceased father, one who rarely showed him love and gave Morse last words full of disappointment. Soon the jaws enclosed themselves around him and Morse was swallowed into the belly of Cyril Morse

Except when the sergeant opened his eyes he wasn't being burned in acid, instead, he was upright and feet placed on the ground. Cowley police station sat in a state of abandonment, no living soul in sight, flickering lamps were switched on by either had crashed to the floor or fell to their sides. Morse felt uneasy. He moved about, looking for anyone in this horrid dream.

"Hello?"

No one. So Morse searched and searched.

On his fourth round of the building, the mood unexpectedly changed. Shifting from nothing to sadness...Mourning. He quickened his quest for life, scanning each piece of paper and rifling through rooms for clues when Morse stumbled upon it.

A mural. Painted perfectly and with immense detail. Each brush stroke clean and precise. Dark, dull greys sticking out against the white background, pasty peach pigments marking each wrinkle and edge of the model. Eyes seeming so lifelike it was bothersome. As Morse studied the portrait, it became clear as to who it was. A small, golden plaque rested at the bottom, nailed into the oak frame. 

Chief Inspector Fred Thursday  
1915 - 1967  
Proud Father, Loving Wife And Respected Police Officer

Without warning, the painting of his governer almost rose out of the frame and reached out to him. Long, aged fingers wrapping around Morse' throat and Morse couldn't scream. But he could panic, feeling his heart speed up dangerous -more than it did staring down a tiger - so much it hurt. He thought his heart would burst out of his chest, gasping for air and darkness edging his vision. Morse tried to pry Thursday's hands away but his own just fell through like touching a cloud.

Then it all suddenly stopped

It all went out, like a light bulb bursting, until a small slither of light shone through. 

~~~

Fred was also dreaming. Much tamer. He was sat with Win, enjoying the salt-tasting air of the beach as it blew past their faces. The excited squeals and laughs of his children rang out, filling his heart with joy. Their small figures running in and out of the water as the tide splashes against their short legs. It was an old memory yet he felt young again, arm around his wife and head bent towards hers. The remains of a picnic scattered around them on a tartan blanket, sandwiches half eaten with lemonade going warm in the sun. Food could be salvaged for later he thought, basking in the rare, English heat.

"Fred" whispered Win, looking towards him. Her voice soft and warm, she looked beautiful to him. Pastel yellow sundress bringing out the colour in her eyes. Beautiful. 

"Yes?"

"Wake up my dear" 

"I'm sorry?" Fred had gone to kiss her but reeled back, processing what she had just said. Wake up? He was awake, right? Thursday looked to his children. They had frozen mid playfight, reality itself had stopped. There was no sound, the sea was stuck as though it had become ice and nobody moved. The sharp shrill rang out next to him, head snapping towards his wife. She looked normal except when Win opened her mouth her sweet voice didn't leave her lips, just the irritating call of a telephone. His skull seemed to shake with the aggressive noise when suddenly the Inspector's eyes shot open.

Fred was in his room, dimly lit by the small bedside lamp with the clear calling of his telephone. Quietly grumbling to himself, he manoeuvred out of the bed without waking Win and crept downstairs to the phone.

"Inspector Thursday, hello?"

"Sir? It's Strange."

"Strange? What is it? It's-" he looks to his watch, "It's one in the morning sergeant."

"I know Sir, sorry, but I've had a call…It's Morse."

"Morse? What's the lad found huh?" There was a pause before Strange spoke up again.

"That's the thing, sir…see PC Walbot believes Morse to be missing, he had seen Morse leave almost with a note on his desk saying where he'd be"

"Surely the man has just gone home Strange, it is 1 am for Christ's sake."

"I've already had a check...he wasn't there, sir." Fred fell silent again as he heard Win moving upstairs. He needed to tell her.

"Where did you say he was?" 

~~~

By the time Strange had picked him up and driven them to the destination, Fred felt it was already too late. He didn't know what they were walking into, was the killer here? Had he taken another child or perhaps Morse? All he knew was his bagman was here somewhere and had been for a while. Worry had already set itself deep in Thursday's heart as he watched the world go by swiftly, _too slow._

Snow had started to stick to the ground during the few hours he had slept, coating the roads in a thin blanket. However, as the two sped down the roads, it picked up, heavy, and fast. Soon the windshield was blocked by the frozen water, wipers fighting against hordes of snow, sweeping them away to be replaced almost immediately by reinforcements to continue the assault Strange in command as he led the vehicle down twists and turns, knowing exactly where to go, pushing through the offence.

As they pulled up to the aged warehouse, followed by three other police cars, Thursday climbed out of the car before it had even stopped. Eyes scanning the scene before him as he pulled his coat around him, collar up shielding his neck.

"Strange?" Fred ordered, looking over the hood of the car. The man shut the engine off and stood up. "Be on your guard, who knows who could be here…all of you" With a nod and a couple of 'yes sir's the coppers opened up their umbrellas and started forward.

Flashlight shining, hardly helping Thursday see, as he stomped through the white covered ground. There was the building and the courtyard to search. Two large plots of land split between eight men while under a time limit as if the storm got too heavy they would be forced to leave, in fear of being trapped out in the middle of nowhere. Fred knew he couldn't let that happen, Morse injured or not, he wasn't leaving his son out here all alone.

Time slowly passed and who knows how much time the Inspector had wasted meandering across the gravel entrance. Nose red from the chill and limbs frozen. Fred's feet hurt in his shoes, his hands unguarded against the gusts of wind-

Then he saw it. Inky black paint barely visible through the pelting weather. Headlights blaring. The Jaguar sitting surrounded by the colourless sheet, engine running with a hum and melting the snow that dared lay upon it. Fred broke into a hurried run, wishing, praying, for Morse to be there. To be alive. It seemed to take centuries Thursday to reach the hunk of metal. It seemed to get further away with each step until suddenly time decided to speed up, and he pressed up against the car. A gush of heat hit Fred's face as the door was ripped open, gas meter almost empty. Slumped in his seat sat Fred's bagman.

"Morse?"

No response.

"Morse? Wake up, lad." Fred dropped the umbrella with haste, awkwardly leaning into the vehicle to feel around the boy's neck for a pulse. Weak beats were felt under his fingers. "Strange!!" He yelled for his other sergeant, pulling himself out of the doorway and to search the surroundings. "Strange!?" The round shape of Jim came into view, broken up by the falling blizzard flakes like a television with a broken aerial, terrible image but easy to know what was happening. The man was racing towards him, having registered the panic but slight relief in Thursday's calls.

"Sir?"

"He's in here...he's- oh…" Fred's hands had fallen from Endeavour's neck to his torso, pulling them away when they felt the warm, slick material of Morse' dress shirt. Blood coated his hand, fresh and in too large a quantity. Thursday felt the dread in his bones build up. "Quick, call ahead, tell them were coming to Cowley General… _now!_ "

With that, his sergeant dashed back to their own vehicle as Thursday managed to scoop his arms underneath the lad - he was lighter than a newborn baby - squinting through the snowstorm and carefully chasing after Strange. Holding his bagman to his chest, Thursday didn't have time to check his injuries, where they were or how bad just yet. He needed to get Morse to the car. At least he wasn't too cold, his own vehicle having kept the lad heated up.

All three of them were safely inside the vehicle, and only then did Fred dare remove Morse's suit jacket and open up his soiled, stained shirt. Blood was leaking out of him like a fountain in a park square, running over his body from multiple exit wounds. Thursday bundled up his coat and securely held it to his bagman's ruined body as Strange sped down the road, sirens blaring and lights blinking. As pressure was applied, Endeavour let out a low groan, foggy eyes cracking open and gradually shifting into focus.

"Nice of you to join us lad," Thursday said with confidence despite the sheer terror coursing through him. He had to be strong for Morse or the boy would fall into such panic. Thursday had times for break downs later, Morse might not even make it to the hospital. Vital fluids began to soak through his thick, padded coat as he applied more weight. A thin, trembling hand wrapped it's way Fred's wide wrist.

"No- s-sto- argh…hurt."

"I know Morse, just- just hold on, I'm sorry lad." He soothed, throwing away all formalities and regulations to take a hold of his hand, ground Morse to the real world. "We're almost there, don't worry…" Then Morse buried his face into Fred's shirt, neck craned at an awkward angle as the lad craved comfort. The Inspector's heart leapt, threatening to leave his chest as Fred swore he would find the culprit, whether Morse lived or not, he would get justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, I just wanted to take my time. However, I'm not keen on the whole Morse dream section, rip
> 
> (The show needs more Dad Thursday hugs)
> 
> Comments, Kudos, and Criticism are always appreciated.  
> Tumblr - @Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw
> 
> Everything is also posted on fanfiction.net


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I just had no inspiration

He was floating. He couldn't tell whether he had reached death or not. There was no sound, no sight, nothing to touch. It was empty. 

His body wouldn't respond. Not even a slight twitch of the finger. He was dead weight, feeling heavier than an enormous elephant yet also lighter than a falling feather. 

There were no memories he could pull out, nothing to give the slightest clue to where he was and why. As he tried to remember, tried to escape the nothing that held him close, there was a tug in his abdomen. Then it burst like a firework just set off, burning hotter than the sun.

He couldn't scream so he just let nothing take back its possession.

~~~

The journey to the hospital had been hell for Fred, desperately trying to keep Morse awake in case he slipped away in his sleep. Holding his ruined coat to his bagman's abdomen even if it hurt him. Thursday had refrained from shouting at Strange to put the pedal down, get them to help _now_ , the man doing the best the could. Struggling to drive fast in the oncoming blizzard.

But they had made it, whether it was in the nick of time, Thursday would have to find out eventually.

Young Trewlove had made a short appearance, she said,

_"Mr Bright is now at the crime scene. He's searching for any possible assailant, or clues to one"_

Some faith and hope had built in Thursday's heart then, Morse's attacker wouldn't go unfound. Not if Bright was on the case. No stone left unturned until justice was served, that's how it went in Cowley.

But hours had passed since then. And that faith and hope had dwindled. 

Standing in a small waiting room with Strange, they'd heard no news. Leather bound chairs with sturdy wooden backs and arms dotted around, both detectives too restless to take up theur constant offer. Tables covered in papers or books, none up to date or truly interesting. One or two visitors were here and there, sat in a vigil silence, todays sombre mood seemingly captivating any room they entered.

Soon Strange's behind gave in and ungratefully fell onto the creaking leather. However his rest was swiftly halted as a doctor, tall and proud, sauntered into the room. Bleached coat billowing behind him as be rounded the corner.

"Chief Inspector Thursday?" He called, clipboard clutched in steay hands.

Fred stepped forward, his sergeant not far behind.

"I'm Doctor Reece, I'm the one who's operated on Detective Sergeant Morse."

"Is he-"

"He's alive, Inspector."

~~~

He felt a tug. It was pulling him closer, caught like a fish on a hook.

 _No..._ he didn't want to go. The darkest was perfectly fine, numbing and empty but he felt safe. Out there, whatever it was, it meant pain. Why would he willingly let himself be pulled into that? No he just wanted rest. To float in the nothingness forever.

Except it felt wrong to fight it, like he was needed out there. He didn't have time to laze about. There was something he needed to tell someone, something important.

But the pain…

A decision he struggled to make, but he knew what was right. He needed to go.

So, he let the metaphorical fisherman reel in the line, speeding through the nothing. Getting faster. And faster. And faster. Until…

There was a blaring light, just a slither but enough to rip through the confineds of the empty.

~~~

Days had already come and gone while Thursday sat his vigil in the uncomfortablely clean, chin resting on fisted hand. In a new suit, thanks to his lovely Win, and fresh sandwiches for him and a spare if the lad woke up. It was deathly silent, save for the constant deep breathes from the bed.

Then there were the telltale shuffle of bedsheets which seemed to sound louder than a church bell in the quiet of the night. A soft groan and Thursday was already moving before his mind caught up completely.

Morse was racking his groggy eyes over the scene in front of him, taking it all in. He saw as recognition slowly formed in the ocean of blue as they grew focused.

Thursday cleared his throat and cobalt eyes flicked to him. Relief flooded his veins and Fred felt himself relax, shoulders falling back and frown molding into a smile

"Alright there, Morse?" He said with familiarity, not wanting to give the lad pity as Thursday knew he wouldn't take it.

It took a moment for Morse to truly recognise him, tongue flicking out and running across his lips. A water filled cup was grabbed as Morse opened his mouth and promptly started coughing up a storm. Leanung forward, steady sips were taken until the fit was tamed and calm. The coughing caused a dull throb in his abdomen and his throat to burn. Morse groaned and a warm hand guided him back to the pillow. "I'll let you rest some more, son."

Morse hadn't been awake long but he already felt the familiar presence of exhaustion and he didn't bother protesting. The detective was already drifting off before Thursday had left the room.

~~~

He was a regular visit. A common sight in the halls of the hospital. He knew each and every doctor and nurse. The caretakers and undertakers. Longterm patient, terminal or not, amd those who came for regular check ups. Pensioners and children. He knew them and they knew him.

None of the nurses stopped him as he slunk past the desk and stalked down the corridor. He shot a wave to an old man in a wheelchair. The man gave him a hearty smile. Daft man. If he knew what was to transpire next, the smile would swiftly turn sour.

As he came up to the door he was looking for, a doctor stepped out a gave him a wide smile. They knew each other of course.

"Come to see my newest patient, Harold?"

"Of course, Anthony. I've heard what he's done for this community, how could I not?"

"Fair enough, old boy. I must tell you, he's not entirely lucid at the moment."

"I'll make do, Doctor." The two men slide past each other, Anthony disappearing down the hall while Harold pushed the door open.

In there was a single bed, accompanied by a bedside table, lamp, and cupboard. Upon the bed was the detective Harold was looking for. He slunk over to the bed, looming over the sleeping man. _"Unguarded and defenceless…perfect."_ He thought.

The detective was fair and thin, auburn hair standing out against his sharp features. He looked young, but Harold didn't care for age. Kids, he preferred, much easier to subdue and hide. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to dumb this one. The doctors would think he had just passed in his own.

Harold slipped a pillow from under the sleeping lad's head. He glanced back at the door just briefly before dropping the pillow down and smothering the detective's face underneath. He didn't wake immediately, eyes sluggishly opening after a number of seconds. It took a few more before the lad registered what was happening. Then his heart rate sped up and Harold pushed down harder.

Weak hands dripped at Harold's shirt, but they hardly dislodged the man's grip. Adrenaline began to pump in his veins, making Harold feel more alive than ever. He let out a cruel laugh as the kicking and hitting from the detective grew gradually weaker. He felt powerful, taking another human's life was his fix. He was addicted.

And then the click of a gun being cocked echoed in the room. The cold metal was pressed to Harold's balding head.

"Step away from Morse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Kudos, and Criticism are always appreciated.  
> Tumblr - @Bee_Haw_Yee_Haw
> 
> Everything is also posted on fanfiction.net

**Author's Note:**

> Had intended it to be just a oneshot, but the I might post more chapters.
> 
> (Warmings and characters may be added or changed )
> 
> Comments, Kudos and Criticism are always appreciated.  
> And I apologise for any mistakes


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